Anchor
by July Storms
Summary: FE:A. Lucina is the most capable person Gerome knows. Maybe that's why he fell for her.


**Anchor**

**Prompt**: Equality of relationship (or something like that). (Requested by Starbuildstrike.)

**Notes**: Like Starbuildstrike, I think my favorite part about Gerome and Lucina's relationship is the equality found within. This was supposed to be short, but it just kept going. Special thanks to Arthoure for giving me a quick beta.

* * *

Lucina is the most capable person Gerome knows. Maybe that's why he fell for her what seems like a lifetime ago, when the world was chaos and time passed from night to day predictably.

Back then, soldiers dropped like flies, and one day word came to Ylisse of Exalt Chrom's death. Sleep would not come to Gerome that night; all he could think about were his own parents, dead two long years already. He paced the corridors, running his hands back through his hair, biting the inside of his cheek, and when he came to the large oak doors that led into Lucina's quarters, he pushed them open.

Just to check on her, he told himself. Just to know, just to see her.

But the foyer was empty and when he let his hand rest against the cold doorknob of her bedroom door, he heard it: her voice, soft and low and trembling as she prayed for just one more day with her father.

He stayed there for hours that night, just listening to her voice and hoping it wouldn't break—hoping _she_ wouldn't break with her loss, hoping she wouldn't change the way he had.

In the morning she appeared: her hair was a little mussed, her clothes a little wrinkled, her eyes a little red, but she smiled at him and said, "Good morning, Gerome. Will you be joining Owain and I for a spar in the courtyard?"

He knew then, in that moment, that nothing would change Lucina. Nothing could twist her into bitterness and hatred. She was safe from that, and he was grateful for it, relieved, though it was foolish and stupid of him to care so very much.

Lucina did not need protection, but that day, he wished he could offer it to her.

"No," was his answer, but he touched her shoulder before he left, let his hand linger there and hoped that she understood he was sorry: sorry that there was nothing he could do to make her loss hurt less.

* * *

He watches her during quiet moments, when she's eating with Kjelle or rolling her eyes at Inigo or covering a yawn first thing in the morning, when the eastern sky glows gold. She is still capable, and determined; she is still the same person she was when his parents died on the battlefield together and the news came that they had died. There were many losses that day. Brady ran away first and then Kjelle and finally the news came to him: both of his parents were dead.

They died honorably, of course, in battle, protecting Exalt Chrom and maybe even one another, but Gerome heard none of it. What use was honor if it killed you, if it took you away from those who needed you?

He lost too much, that day, and it had changed him.

Here they are again—his parents, looking much younger: a Cherche who does not suffer migraines, a Vaike whose eyes haven't yet formed deep creases at the corners. He can't accept them, though. He can't lose them again. It will kill him.

Lucina lost her parents once, yet she smiles for this Chrom, and lets this Sumia braid her hair with wildflowers growing on the side of the path. It hurts him to see it because he's afraid. For her—for Lucina, afraid she's going to lose these parents too, afraid Vaike and Cherche will die again, afraid that everything is a waste of time and they're all going to end up alone and fighting an impossible fight.

He swallows his comments and bites the inside of his cheek and decides to just watch Lucina. She is the one thing that has never changed in his life, his strongest and dearest friend, an anchor in the brewing storm; she keeps him grounded when all he wants to do is jump on Minerva's back and fly away forever.

He trusts her. He needs to.

* * *

When it's finally over, he looks for Lucina first. She smiles at him and breaks into a limping sort of run. There's blood on her clothes and sweat forces her bangs to stick to her face, but she looks wonderful and he wants to do something silly, something ridiculous, like lift her up into the air and swing her around.

He wants to laugh.

But the sound is stuck in his throat and he thinks, for a moment, that maybe he's forgotten how.

Lucina stops in front of him, one hand on the hilt of her sword, one at her face to push back her hair. "We did it," she says.

He swallows hard, eyes and chest and throat stinging, and touches her shoulder. "You were right," is all he can say, because his carefully-constructed damn to hold back his emotions is threatening to crack. He hopes she understands what he means: he's happy, relieved, impressed. He'll follow her anywhere.

* * *

Lucina finds him that evening in his tent after he's managed to pull himself back together again.

"Success is difficult, sometimes," she whispers, sitting down beside him, pulling her knees up to hug them to her chest.

"Oh?" he asks.

"Yes. I would have liked very much to—" she pauses, lets her forehead rest against her knees, and sighs. "I would have liked to save our own time. Very much. But I…"

Almost before he realizes he's doing it, he's sitting up, hand resting on the top of her head. "I know." It was never really an option, and he's accepted that. "You did well."

"We all did." She lifts her gaze to meet his. "Thank you."

Two simple words, but Gerome knows they mean a million things. He almost smiles as he smooths down her hair—a silent _you're welcome_.

They sit together quietly for a long time before Lucina shifts and asks, hesitantly, "Gerome?"

"Hm?"

"Can I hug you?"

He is taken aback by her question and can't mask his surprise. "Why?"

"Because I wish to."

He relents, though he's not entirely sure why. Maybe because it's Lucina, because she's always been there, steady and determined and strong and herself, and he loves her more than words can ever say.

Her gentleness belies her callous-hardened fingers; she wraps her arms around his chest and rests her forehead on his shoulder and she just stays there like that for a long time. He returns the gesture awkwardly, hands against her back. He feels his throat tighten when he hears a faint sniffle.

"Lucina?" he asks, horrified and unsure of what it is he's supposed to do, now.

She laughs, but it's wobbly and teetering on the edge of something, and her grip on him tightens.

She doesn't sniffle again, but he can feel the slight dampness of tears through his shirt and he knows what's happening, so he pulls her closer, almost without thinking about it.

They sit together in the rusty sunlight and hold each other too tight and it feels too soon when Lucina pulls away.

Her voice is strong again, normal when she says, "It's hard to believe it's really over, don't you think?"

"It is, though," he says, but he agrees with her, knows that for months to come he'll wake in the night ready to fight an enemy that isn't there, a battle that isn't coming. But the hell they're living in has passed them by. They will be all right.

"Yes," she says. "It is."

He wants to ask her what her plans are, now, but she beats him to it.

"What will you do now that we have won?"

She's never asked before, probably for the same reason he's never asked: hope is frightening sometimes. But everything is over and they are safe, and now she's asking and he finds that he's not quite sure.

To say that he will follow her anywhere seems too needy, though it's the truth. "I'd like to live somewhere quiet," he manages to say. "And peaceful." Peace to combat the nightmares that he's sure will plague him.

Lucina is quiet for a long moment as she picks at an invisible thread on her tunic. "May I come with you?"

"What?"

"I would like to live someone peaceful, too," she continues, and gives him a shy smile. He's never seen her with that expression on her face before.

"What about your," he makes himself say it, "parents?"

"They have their own Lucina to take care of," she tells him. "And I—I cannot stay. You know that. I would like to go with you, if you will have me."

Overwhelmed, he says the first thing to come to mind: "Why?"

"Ah," her face turns red, but her eyes glint with determination. "I will not be a burden, I swear it. I know that I am not very good at cooking or sewing or even cleaning, but I will do my best to do my fair share."

"I'm not concerned with that," he tells her. "Why _me_?"

"I care for you, very much," she whispers. "And you have always been by my side. I've never had to worry overmuch for your sake, and that has been a great comfort to me. Gerome, I," she laughs, twists the ends of her long hair between her fingers, "I'm sorry. I must sound ridiculous. Please, allow me to remain with you a while longer."

"How long?" he asks, and wonders how deeply she cares for him, prays that it's enough.

She blushes, but looks him in the eye. "Forever."

He swallows hard, feels something in his chest ache. "Okay," he manages to say.

"Really?" She sounds hopeful, and she leans forward as if to better read his face. "You are certain? You know my skill in domestic affairs is slipshod at best."

"I have counted on you overmuch these past few years," he says, slowly. "It is my turn, now. You may rely on me."

"I always have," she tells him, and takes his hand, threading her fingers through his.


End file.
